


Age Doesn't Make A Difference in What We Feel

by lonlygnome



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drabble Meme, Fluff, M/M, and other cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonlygnome/pseuds/lonlygnome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How would they bond except over discrepancies in one of Scotty's theories?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Age Doesn't Make A Difference in What We Feel

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own Trek
> 
> Written for: icantapzat.tumblr.com for the prompts "breakfast, alarm, first, and giggle"

The loud ring of the alarm caused Scotty to sit up quickly, ramming his head against the shelf above, and curse loudly. Arm flailing off the edge of the bed as he searched for the 20th century device he insisted on using. Unless they were the emergency alarms this ships little chimes usually did nothing to wake up the engineer.

Finally finding the alarm and slamming it off with his hand Scotty paused suddenly, surprised to hear a near incomprehensible curse thickly accented with Russian. What the hell…?

——

Chekov had been shadowing him in engineering. Which of course, per usual, lead to an argument about one of Scotty’s physics theories. It ran long past the time when they each should have been resting before their next shifts (when they had real work to do as Bones would put it when they stumbled in with hangovers the next morning) and to the point where they were both in need of a drink. Chekov, demanding he needed something to eat before retreating to Scotty’s quarters for further discussion, dragged the Scotsman through the mess line where, of course, Scotty found just the thing he thought he needed to make his point. They held up the line for what felt like hours to the people behind them before an annoyed lunch lady came along and ushered them out, demanding they didn’t come back until their argument was solved.

"I’s no’ an ar’umen’!" Scotty demanded, “‘cause we know I’m bloo’y righ’!"

"No! Ye arz wrong Scotty! Zee cal’ulations fer zee projectile rate are all wrong!" The Russian kept going, arms waving as he’d tried to explain why the math was wrong, simply wrong!

Eventually they’d ended up in Scotty’s quarters, each with an empty glass of their preferred drink (that had been a side-tracking argument for a short period of time) next to them, various sheets of paper with a Scottish scrawl of equations or a slightly more angry and pronounced Russian note on them strewn about the room. The two men in question were cross legged in the center of the bed, a fresh sheet of paper between them, and a Russian hand quickly sketching out equations as Chekov spoke, accent stumbling over his words and making it so only another person with a near-ununderstandable accent had a chance of getting what he was saying.

As the Russian spoke, occasionally looking up to make sure Scotty was following seeing as the Scotsman had gone silent, Scotty leaned forward and stuck the pen he’d been planning on using for making corrections behind his ear. The kid actually had a point. Well, now he did. It wasn’t that his calculations were wrong per say, it’s that he was doing the wrong ones to begin with.

As Chekov finished up his explanation and looked up with a grin he said, “See Scotty, zis is vhat ye should have been doinin’!”  
Returning the grin Scotty nodded, “Aye lad, tha’ is.” From the joy of having finally figured out the bloody proof, a bit too much to drink in his system, and the damn look of joy on Chekov’s face (though to be honest Scotty’d be thinking about that one for a while now) he leaned forward and kissed Chekov soundly for a second before moving back, grin removed from his face but the twinkle still in his eyes.

And when all Chekov did was grin, giggle softly and lean in for more how was Scotty to resist?

—-

"Tha’ was zee firs’ an’ zee last time I let you keep my vo’ka in your quarters," groaned Chekov as he leaned greatfully against Scotty’s shoulder, relishing in the feel of the mans hands tangled in his hair, "An’ zee ‘ave got ta get rid of zat alarm."

Scotty chuckled softly, shifting so that Pavel’s head could lay on his shoulder, and looked down at the kid. “So wha’, yer no’ thin’in’ ov’ runnin’ ou’ on me? If yer sayin’ I shoul’ ge’ ri’ ov’ my damn ‘larm then I don’ see i’ bein’ my room fer keepin’ yer vo’ka in. Though may’e I shoul’ ‘ave don’ tha’ a lon’ time ‘go if this was goin’ ta be the turnou’.”

Pavel smirked and rolled over so that he was straddling Scotty and looked down at the older man. Leaning down the only response he gave to Scotty’s statement was a whispered “I can tap zat” in his ear before laying down and planting a solid kiss that forced Scotty to forget any response he had.

—-

If Chekov and Scotty stumbled into the mess together slightly disheveled and grabbed something to eat before sprinting off to the bridge and engineering to start there shifts no one said anything. And if their hands linked for a second as they walked out of the door in a good bye? Well, Kirk could use that as future black mail.


End file.
